


gotta make a stand (but I am just a man)

by CaptainOzone



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bat Family, Gen, I can't even be sure any of this is canonically correct after seeing the movie only once, I was just so salty, Minor Spoilers, extra credit scene, oh well, that I had to write this, that Robin and/or Nightwing weren't mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:12:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: Bruce makes it back to the Cave, injured and exhausted, but remarkably alive. He expects Alfred to meet him. He meets someone else.Or: a third credit scene in which Nightwing makes an appearance.





	gotta make a stand (but I am just a man)

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see in the tags, I saw Justice League, and I was hella salty that there wasn't A SINGLE MENTION of Bruce's extended family in the movie. That is why this is a thing, and that is why this will probably not be the last thing I write on the matter. 
> 
> Beware mild spoilers for the movie. Beware potential inconsistencies between the movie and this fic. I can't actually remember if the Batmobile survived or not. *shrugs*
> 
> Title from Skillet's "Hero."

The Batmobile limped back into the Bat Cave, a nasty grinding sound resounding deep from within her hood. The back bumper was long gone, and whatever remained of the rear of the car dragged across the floor, throwing sparks.

She screeched to a stop in the center of the Bat Cave floor, and from within the cabin, Bruce could hear her sigh as he powered her down for the last time. For a moment, he sat behind the wheel, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. He realized that Alfred would be on him in moments, ready to lead him to the medical bay so that he could poke and prod at all of his bruises—his favorite part of this vigilante business, _of course_ —but for the few moments he had left, Bruce reveled in peace and quiet. He reveled in the chance to rest, to let the tension bleed from his shoulders and back. If pressed, he might have even admitted he reveled in his heartbeat, in the way his chest expanded with every breath.

He ached. Everywhere. But the pain was almost as welcome as it was irritating.

Despite what the others might have believed, he wasn't insane. He had known exactly what he was getting into when he first thought to form this team. He'd known exactly who he was enlisting and what it might mean for him. He had known exactly what he might have to do, what he might have to give, to be a part of this team. He had known the probability of his death and had accepted it. He had been prepared to sacrifice everything.

Bruce heaved a sigh. He'd been ready. He might go so far as to say he'd invited death to come and take him, but it seemed his mission was far from complete. Or perhaps it was his punishment, his curse, to remain behind whereas...

Shaking himself free of those dark thoughts, Bruce shifted and groaned. His muscles were already stiffening, and every last inch of him burned as he gripped the handle to open the door. The door practically fell away at his touch, and he watched it crash to the floor with a vague sense of exasperation. 

Clark had offered to fly him home, but Bruce refused. His plane was beyond help, nothing more than junkyard scraps after all was said and done, but this old girl...she deserved better. He made arrangements to ship her home, and he had to see to it that she made it in person, even if it cost him a few extra hours and delayed any treatment he required. It would be all worth it, even if he couldn't get her fixed up. The very least he could do was save what remained of her rims.

A little smirk ghosted across his lips, followed by a horrible pang deep in his chest that had nothing to do with the bruises discoloring his torso.

Bruce stepped from the cabin, turning to pluck his very last communicator from the center console. The others had gone their separate ways, each given a communicator Batman had developed long before he called them together. They had accepted the gift, and burden, with varying degrees of acceptance and courtesy. Arthur had, of course, made a show of scoffing in Bruce's face, complaining and joking about being "on call" with the big, bad Bat. Diana and Clark had taken theirs with solemn nods and knowing smiles, whereas Victor had taken his with a measure of hesitance. Bruce knew it would only be a matter of time before Victor grew into himself and accepted his new abilities. He was already well on his way.

Barry...well, Bruce needn't have worried at all about Barry. The moment he saw the communicator, his face lit up like Gotham's museum district during the holidays. "You mean it?" he'd asked. "Really?"

Bruce couldn't help but smile to think of the young meta-human, whose innocent wide eyes, untapped potential, and boisterous excitement reminded him of times long since gone, times when Earth wasn't exactly on the rest of the galaxy's Most Wanted list, when it was just gritty Gotham streets and psychotic crime bosses, when it was bright colors and bloodied lips and cartwheels and quirky quips.

He wrapped his fingers around the communicator and turned away from the car, pulling down his cowl with his free hand. He peered into the gloom, half-expecting Alfred to descend upon him with a very passive-aggressive admonishment on his lips. Instead, he found himself alone, no one in sight, which...wasn't right. 

The bats were dead silent.

Bruce froze in place, straining his ears, instinct insisting he was, in fact, _not_ alone. And sure enough, the moment he sharpened his focus, his eyes were drawn to the shadows of the observation deck, where someone crouched in wait.

The figure hesitated for a few seconds before unfurling from his perch. "You're losing your touch, B," the visitor chastised, voice light.

Bruce merely narrowed his eyes, and Nightwing, sans his preferred domino mask, stepped into the light, casually leaning up on the metal railing. For all his posturing, Bruce could see the circles under his eyes, the lack of shine to his hair.

He must have driven all night. And then stayed up for him.

_Oh, Dick._

"Alfred," Bruce guessed, the words he should have said catching and sticking in his throat.

"Mmm," Dick agreed. "Alfred."

"He called you."

The easy smile on his ward's face slipped, and Bruce saw a tempest of anger stewing within. So it would be one of _those_ visits. 

Dick, however, surprised him, reigning in his emotions. "Well, you sure as hell didn't," he said, with a hint of a sardonic smile. 

Bruce didn't rise to the bait. He was too tired. Too relieved. He flicked his cape behind him and unlatched it at the shoulders, gathering it in his arms. It would need to be put into the decontamination chamber, but not before he pulled every bit of organic matter from it. If those parademons left anything behind during the fight, Bruce had every intention of studying the remains.

He did not look at Dick. He didn't have to. Dick's natural state of being was the furthest thing from silent and patient, and Bruce was a master at waiting out silent treatments and cold shoulders. Whatever was on his mind...Dick would speak first. He always did.

He wasn't disappointed. Dick didn't last longer than thirty-four seconds. "You should have called me," he began.

Bruce did look up then. "I had it under control."

Dick grimaced. "That's not what I meant, Bruce."

"You have your own city. Your own cases," Bruce said. "You are needed there. I would not pull you from Blüdhaven."

Dick gave him an unimpressed look. "Bruce, the world was about to end."

Bruce didn't see the point of Dick's argument. He very rarely did. "We saved it."

That, Bruce knew immediately, was the wrong thing to say. Bruce could see Dick’s frustration building like a tsunami, all emotion receding and then crashing back in a visible wave that rocked his entire body. Dick sprung upright, expression a thundercloud. He spun around and pounded furiously on a keyboard. With a swipe of his fingers, he threw several clips from the Bat-Cowl cams into the air, the Bat Cave's holoprojectors picking up the various feeds and blowing them up so that they could play right before Bruce's eyes.

They were all clips of the battle with Steppenwolf. Of Clark's resurrection. Of him, very obviously struggling to keep up with the supers as the injuries began to pile on.

" _The world was about to end_ ," Dick said again. "Bruce, we fight. I storm off. You brood. We say things we don’t mean, and we get pissy at each other. But when the _world is about to end_ , when you're obviously throwing your life on the line without letting anyone else in on your Grand Plan, none of that matters! I'm not about to let you go off without someone to watch your back!"

Bruce was going to say something, but then hesitated, staring at Dick. Did Dick really think that was why he didn't want him involved? Because of their last fight?

"I had a team to watch my back," he said.

Dick watched the screens for a moment. "They are good people. Loyal. There's something special here, I won't deny that, but—” Dick turned back to Bruce "—they forget you're only human."

It was oddly convenient that an image of Clark knocking Bruce to the ground played at that very moment. Dick's comment, paired with the video feed of just how out of place Bruce was on his own team, rankled and dug at his pride. "I didn't want you there."

"Wow,” Dick deadpanned. “Shocker. I would have never guessed. Sorry I'm not cool enough to hang out with you and your new friends."

That sarcastic bite in Dick's tone never failed to grate on Bruce's nerves. "Don't be a child," he snapped.

"Then stop treating me like one! I don't need your protection!" Dick shouted.

“You’re nineteen!” Bruce argued. “You don’t know—!”

“I don’t know?” Dick demanded. “I don’t claim to be perfect, Bruce, but come _on._ You taught me better than that.”

Bruce took a slow breath, struggling to control his temper. “I didn’t mean—”

“Then what are you trying to say? That I’m not good enough or trustworthy enough to do the job you trained me for? That I’m not worthy of being Nightwing? Newsflash: I chose this life, Bruce, just as much as you did! Just as much as Jason did!"

Bruce flinched, and of course Dick noticed. He cocked his head, the fire dying from his eyes. "So that's what this is really about."

Bruce did not respond and started to remove his gauntlets and the plates of his armor. His sore body protested with every movement, and even as he avoided conversation, he had the sense that somewhere in the shadows, Alfred was watching with a self-satisfied smile.

Dick flipped over the railing, landing on the lower deck with light feet. He padded up to Bruce and stood silently for a moment, contemplating. Bruce realized too late what was going on, and Dick lunged, wrapping his arms around Bruce.

Bruce stiffened in the unexpected embrace. Dick hadn't hugged him like this in a long time. Not since he'd been Robin. When things had been simpler. Easier. The ice around his heart thawed, and he raised his hands, only to drop them before they could reach around Dick’s back.

"This thing goes both ways you know," Dick murmured, pulling away and taking his warmth with him. "I freaked out when Alfred called and I realized what you'd done. You can't keep distracting me with convenient leads in Blüdhaven just to keep me from fighting the big fights, B."

Bruce was unashamed and unapologetic, and before he could check his words, he muttered, "I needed to know you would be okay."

Dick snorted. "And I would have liked to know you were okay too." Blue eyes danced across Bruce's face. "Because you haven't been. I know you haven't been. You made some disturbingly risky moves out there, you know?”

Bruce was going to defend himself, dare Dick to judge him for making some tough calls, but something in Dick’s expression reminded Bruce of the eight-year-old Robin Batman had taken under his wing, and he stopped short. It was amazing, truly, how much he had grown.

“Call me next time," Dick said. "Please."

It wasn't a recommendation or a request. Bruce wouldn't get away with tricking Dick a second time...and if he attempted it again, it was clear he wouldn't be forgiven. He nodded, but he didn't make any promises aloud. He couldn't make promises he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep. Dick knew better than to push for anything more.

"C'mon, B," Dick said eventually, his tone softening. "You look like you're about to keel over. Let's get you in an ice bath or something."

Bruce resisted for a moment. "Not yet. I have to..."

"Shut up. You can do whatever you need to do later."

Alfred materialized out of the shadows as if on cue, and Bruce gave him a look. "Thank you, Master Dick," the butler said, ignoring Bruce entirely. "I will take over from here. Why don't you take your own advice and hit the showers yourself, hm? I'll have dinner out when you are ready to eat."

"Wait," Dick said, digging his heels in. "I didn't agree to—”

Alfred's glare was like ice. "I _insist_ you stay for dinner, Master Dick _."_

Dick, true to form, crumbled under his surrogate grandfather's request. "Fine." He smiled, suddenly looking more tired than Bruce felt. "Thanks, Alfie."

"Off you go," Alfred said fondly.

Bruce knew neither he nor Dick would quite make it to dinner. Not without a few hours of sleep after their showers, at least. They might not even make it to the table at all, in all honesty, but Bruce wouldn't complain. There was an effort there, and that's what mattered. Things obviously weren't what they were before, but maybe things weren't as bad as they once were either. 

With Superman back, with a new team of heroes looking out for Earth, with Dick actually offering hugs instead of shooting barbed insults...maybe there was some hope to be had in all this darkness after all.

As Dick headed toward the showers, he called over his shoulder, "Oh, before I forget. Totally unrelated to extraterrestrial demons and Mother Boxes: I wanted to give you a heads up. You might have a visitor in the next few days. Don't be too mean, alright? He's a big fan."

Bruce frowned, not fully understanding. His head was beginning to pound. "What?"

Dick merely grinned.

 


End file.
